


All The Girls Love Alice

by maybegracie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, castiel saves him, dean is in a gang, he needs saving, warnings for drug abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybegracie/pseuds/maybegracie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean find himself lost in a world of imaginary things, and Castiel helps him find his way out. Based off of this post: http://sarfatislea.tumblr.com/post/39263166160</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Girls Love Alice

It didn't start out like this. Dean Winchester wasn't always this way, though, to most, that was how it seemed. He wasn't always this hard and cold. He didn't always carry around a knife in his back pocket and break into houses. Once, he was an innocent kid.  
Then they went and killed Sammy.  
He was only eight when he died. He was in the second grade, and he had a science project due the next day. Sammy had wanted to stay and work on it, but Dean wanted to go to the arcade, so he dragged Sammy with him.  
Dean only left Sam for a minute to go get some money. Only a minute.  
But when he emerged from the bank, there was an ambulance, and people were crowding around the tiny, jacket-clad body on the sidewalk, and there was blood. So much blood.  
From then on, Dean wasn't so much living as walking through life. Repeating the motions, but only wanting to stop and cry. And fall asleep and never wake up.

-

When Dean was seventeen he smoked his first cigarette. It was hard at first, and he coughed and hacked for a while, but once his lungs got accustomed to the sticky smoke, it was almost pleasant. Dean could feel the smoke curling down his throat before he let it go in one long strand of gray coming out of his mouth and nose. It was gorgeous, the way it swirled in the wind. It was addictive.  
So he smoked another.  
And another.  
And eventually cigarettes weren't enough, so he went looking for something else to satisfy him. He tried all sorts of stuff, getting high, low, but none of it felt right.  
Until he found it.  
And then he couldn't get enough.  
He started with a pack of the powder every few days, just to knock he edge off, but soon enough, he would waltz into work completely stoned, walking around in a happy medium, everything shades of rosy pink and orange. When it wore off, he would snort down another, and another, until all he could see was colors, and it blocked out the pain of losing Sammy, and Dean almost forgot who he was.  
With the powder in his system, all the other drugs seemed better, more intense. He took anything he could find. He swallowed pills dry, waiting to collapse on the couch in pure bliss. He looked forward to coming home so he could shoot something into the vein in his arm that made him pass out cold and forget everything for around three hours.  
But maybe it was days, Dean lost track of the time around three months after it all began.  
By the time Dean was eighteen, everything was a kaleidoscopic of color and swirling patterns and things that burned you from the inside out.  
And every time Dean nudged at the bubble of drugs around him, another layer was added on so he couldn't escape.  
He didn't know whether to be frightened or excited. It was like a special world where the only people allowed in were floating in their own bubbles.

-

When Dean joined the Gang, he was nineteen. Surprisingly, he wasn't high at the time. He, in fact, was on his way to stock up on powder, since he had run out, and his dealer lived on the other side of town.  
That was when Dean saw the Gang. They were a rowdy bunch, hunkered down outside an old bar off Newberg Street, laying across each other's laps, glowing. Dean could tell that most of them were high, but one, who seemed to be watching over them, was completely lucid.  
Dean walked towards him.  
His name was Lucifer.  
"Is that your real name?"  
"No. It isn't kid. You wanna drag."  
It was then that Dean settled down next to Lucifer and took the half-burned cigarette from his nicotine-stained fingers. He looked at it for a minute before bringing it to his lips and taking a long drag, letting the smoke curl around him and shutting his eyes. He breathed out through his nose.  
When he opened his eyes, Lucifer was staring at him hungrily.  
From that day on, Dean showed up at the bar every night at seven and stayed until the late hours of the morning, stumbling home drunk and stoned, but happy.

-

There were many of members of the Gang. Some, like Dean, showed up daily, sitting outside and taking long drags on rolled up pot, or passing around bottles of cheap vodka. These, Dean knew well. There was Ruby, the surly blonde who, even with her eyes dazed and her head rolling around on her thin neck, always had a come back. There was Crowley, who didn't smoke much, only sipped on a tiny flask that he kept inside his coat. He would usually shoot something into his arm every weekend, to 'celebrate his two-day vacation to hell'. Azazel was older. He kept to himself, only speaking when he wanted something. Meg was a young girl with big eyes who always sat in your lap and breathed something sickly sweet into your mouth before taking a swig of something foul and laughing, her head thrown back. No one knew exactly who she was, but she was always around, and she was fun. Lilith was the youngest, barely sixteen. She was tough, and shot more into her tiny little arms every week than Dean did in a month. There was something almost enticing about her. Something that reeled you in and had you begging for more.  
Then there was Dean. Dean, who watched, and always had a packet of powder in his system and another in his pocket. Dean, who poked and prodded each thing passed his way, and kissed and touched but never got too close to anyone.  
There was a kind of light that Dean had never found anywhere else. A kind of light that was laced with darkness and that smelled almost like home, but with other scents mixed in, tricking your senses into believing you are safe.

-

Dean had been with the Gang for almost eight months when he met Cas.  
It wasn't on purpose. He wasn't looking for anything, really. Just wandering around the streets, waiting for someone to come along and see him, smoking on something that wasn't a cigarette, and drinking watery wine and invite him into their apartment so he could lose his mind for a few minutes. Or maybe hours. He wasn't sure anymore.  
But no one came, so he sat under the yellow glow of the street light until he saw a figure walking briskly past him.  
He called out to him, and the figure stopped.  
Dean scrambled to his feet and staggered over to him, scanning his face and body. He was lean, wearing a tan overcoat. His eyes were a blue that had never had any reason to feel pain, or go murky with pot, or bright with tears shed in a basement of an abandoned apartment building.  
And for some reason, Dean couldn't find a good reason to ruin that for him. So, he threw the not cigarette on the ground and rubbed it out with his boot. Then, he screwed the lid on his bottle and stowed it in his big pockets, patting his packets to make sure that hadn't run off. Although, Dean though, packets could run.  
He thought.  
"You're a nice guy, I bet," Dean muttered, and the man blinked at him owlishly. "I bet you've never tried anything, and you never sleep around, and you are perfect and don't want anything to do with me."  
"Who said I didn't want anything to do with you?" the man replied in a deep, gravelly voice. And Dean smiled, his eyes brightening a bit, but not from the drugs.

-

Castiel Novak was his name. The man on the street that Dean walked up to.  
Dean had been right. Castiel was good. Too good for Dean, anyways. Then again, practically everyone was too good for Dean.  
Castiel lived in a nice, clean apartment on Deer Avenue with a view of a park with people like Dean scattered over it, lying on their backs, smoking and grinning at the sky. Dean had always thought that if he tried to give it all up, he would see these people and miss it, but he didn't.  
Although he had liked lying on the soft grass, with the sweet smell of flowers tickling his senses, sucking on something sweet while getting high, before letting himself be led somewhere cold to get kissed and held until he woke up from his dream and found himself in an alley, his head pounding, and waking up with a few dollar bids lying by his head, he liked Castiel more.  
He liked sitting on his little balcony and sucking on a cigarette and watching the smoke billow out over the trees. Dean knew it couldn't reach the trees, but with Cas, it felt like anything was possible.  
He didn't dot he things with Cas that he had done to other people. They touched, but not the same way. It was a new touch, a kind of touch that Dean had forgotten had existed. They touched hands and cheeks and they shared small smiles and when Castiel kissed him it was sweetly, and slowly, not quick and hard because he didn't know when I would come back to my senses.  
It was gorgeous. It was addictive. It was Castiel

-

Once Dean went back to the Gang. Lucifer looked up, his eyebrow raised and his smile cocky.  
"So, I heard you tried your cards at a real life, Dean-o," he grinned, and Meg, who was sitting on his lap, laughed. Crowley rolled his eyes and took a sip of his drink. "How did it go? Did you realize that the world is boring without all the powder clouding your senses?"  
The Gang roared with laughter, though most of them didn't seem to know what was being said, only that it was said in an amused manner.  
Dean sighed and dug his hand into his pocket, grabbing a packet and pulling it out.  
Lucifer grinned manically, but Dean didn't rip it open and take a whiff like he yearned to. Instead, he threw it to Lilith, who was drawing in the sandy asphalt. She caught it, and her eyes widened. A sly grin fell over her face and she tore it open, practically swallowing in her haste to snort it down.  
"I'm done," Dean said, before marching away. Lucifer called after him, but Dean ignored him, fixing his gaze on a long man leaning against a pole in the dark of the night. The man turned, his coat billowing a bit before settling around his legs. He grinned brightly at Dean, who smiled back.  
Dean had lived a life where the drugs were his home.  
But now he had a new one.


End file.
